Time of Your Life
by Mina2
Summary: [Never Finished] Thomas and Anna Granger are killed in a Death Eater attack. Hermione's sent off to live with a wizarding family she hardly knows, and quite a few secrets are revealed. The story of how the times change, but never the people.
1. A Normal Day

Time of Your Life Time of Your Life

Chapter One: A Normal Day

_By Mina _ _ _

**A/N: Special thanks to Taranda Borgin (ff.net handle: Borgin), my beta reader.**

****UPDATE NOTE: All those that have been getting Author Alerts from me... Ignore them for a while. I've been revising my fics, and it's quite a mess. Sorry for any inconveniences.****

** **

_"No one asked you your opinion, you filthy little Mudblood." _

--Draco Malfoy, Chamber of Secrets

_"Another turning point, _

_A fork stuck in the road _

_Time grabs you by the wrist _

_Directs you where to go _

_So make the best of this game _

_That we call life. _

_It's not a question, _

_But an answer learned in time." _

--Time of Your Life, Greenday 

-------------------*]

It was a normal day. Your average, run-of-the-mill morning. Mr. and Mrs. Granger stopped by the bank to take out some cash, as they were running a bit short. Mrs. Granger was having one of her rare shopping sprees, and Mr. Granger wanted to stop by the medical supply shop, and buy some more toothpaste as he was running low.

Mrs. Granger proudly donned her brand new light green jacket, and clutched her purse nervously. She was not a superstitious person, and never believed in premonitions and such. Today isn't different from any other day, she said to herself as she smiled at her husband reassuringly.

Mr. Granger was a tall, gangly man with light brown hair and brown eyes. He had a nondescript look about him, but his friends and family knew that he was a kind and gentle man, with a great sense of humor. He loved to read, and seemed to have passed down that quality to his daughter, Hermione.

"Dear, should we stop by the grocery store and buy more milk? I think we ran out last night," commented Mrs. Granger. Her husband nodded absentmindedly. He was thinking about toothpaste - which flavour would his customers prefer: mint or peppermint?

The couple moved towards the bank checkout window. Mr. Granger took off his hat, put it on the counter and -

"Everybody FREEZE!" yelled someone from behind. Mrs. Granger turned around and screamed.

There was a group of men - masked and clothed in black. They were pointing guns - no, not guns. What were they called? She remembered her daughter, Hermione, had one - they were wands.

A tall man, apparently the leader, strolled up to the register. The frightened clerk immediately started throwing cash into a large burlap sack. The man shook his head.

"I don't want your money, you Muggle scum," he drawled. His mask covered his face, but silvery strands of hair fell about his ears. Mr. Granger thought he remembered that hair...

"Mr. Malfoy!" he whispered. The man whipped around, pointing the wand at Mr. Granger's neck. He hissed.

"Who the hell are you?" Malfoy asked, his eyes widening in surprise.

"Thomas Granger. Hermione Granger's father. I believe our children attend the same school."

"Oh, is that so?" the masked man scowled. "SO pleased to meet you, Thomas."

"We've met," said Mr. Granger bravely. He knew this man; if he could just keep him talking, soon the police would arrive and arrest this madman. He glanced at the clerk helplessly, but the man was frozen in place.

"Have we? Oh, of course, about four years ago, I believe. Diagon Alley. Sorry not to have remembered you," Malfoy laughed, bowing his head in mock politeness. He looked back at his crew of men. "Well, what are you bunch waiting for? We came here for a reason..."

"You're not going to rob these people," stammered Mrs. Granger. She remembered the man now. How could she have ever forgotten those eyes?

"Rob? I needn't ROB you, you Muggle scum. I have more money that you have ever seen in your miserable life."

"Then _why_?" glared Mr. Granger. "I'm warning you, once the police come, you'll be sorry you ever came in here. You have one last chance to leave."

Malfoy chuckled. His laugh grew until it was almost hysterical. The Grangers looked at each other in confusion. "You hear this, Crabbe? HE'S threatening ME! Oh, this is rich..."

One of the men in the bunch laughed stupidly. "Yeh, Mas'r Malfoy, that's rich. Real rich." He laughed again.

"Shut up, Crabbe," snapped Malfoy. He turned back to Mr. Granger. "You don't deserve to live, Muggle."

"Neither do you," uttered Thomas. Those were his last words. He saw green light, then fell into oblivion.

"_Avada Kedavra!_"

-------------------*]

Daily Prophet, July 24th

**MUGGLE MASSACRE AND DEATH EATER ATTACK! **

_By Kendra Chant_

**London, England** - Yesterday, at approximately 3 PM, a group of black robed and masked wizards entered the Bank of London. Several Muggles were in the bank at the time, none of whom survived. Hit Wizards have found the magical residue of a mass "Avada Kedavra" curse. The Dark Mark was floating above the building; however, it disappeared after sunset. The death count so far stands at fifty-four Muggles and one wizard. The culprits have not been found, but Ministry spokesperson Michael Windler tells us that they are on the trail.

"We have found several clues that are helping us decipher the identity of these villains. Rest assured, justice will be served," says Windler, 41, Head of Muggle Protection Department. When questioned for more details, Windler said that he was not permitted to disclose any more information.

The Ministry has sent news to the families of the deceased Muggles, wiping their memories, and telling them that there was a bomb placed in the building. The children of the deceased Muggles will be sent to Ministry sponsored orphanages, and those with magical abilities will be sponsored by some of the wealthier Ministry families.

This has been the fifth attack on Muggles this year.

-------------------*]

"Bacon, dear?" asked Mrs. Weasley kindly. Hermione nodded and pushed her plate forward. The red-headed woman piled more food onto her plate.

"Mrs. Weasley, what could be taking them so long?" Hermione burst out. She was ever so worried about her parents; they were supposed to pick her up four hours ago. She had called home about ten times, but nobody picked up. She had left about five messages on the answering machine, but no one had called back yet.

Mrs. Weasley looked down at the sixteen-year-old in concern. "Would you like to call them again?"

Hermione shook her head. "No, no. They're just late, that's all..." she mumbled while stuffing some more bacon in her mouth. She knew that she was wrong, that she was just lying to herself. Her sense of foreboding wouldn't go away.

"Hermione, want to go play some Quidditch? It'll help get your mind off of... things, and stuff..."

She looked up and saw Ron and Harry, leaning on the kitchen counter, their brooms in place. Hermione closed her eyes and rubbed her temples.

"No, thanks. I'm fine," she muttered.

"Are you sure?" Ron asked tentatively.

"YES! I'M SURE! Why won't you JUST LEAVE ME ALONE!" she yelled. She stood up, pushed her plate of bacon away, and ran upstairs. I won't cry, I won't cry, she said to herself repeatedly. She reached Ginny's room, pushed the door open, and collapsed on the bed.

Downstairs, Ron and Harry exchanged confused looks.

"Must be that time of the month," whispered Ron. Mrs. Weasley looked at him in disgust.

"OUT, you two! Go! Hermione doesn't need to deal with you two NOW," Mrs. Weasley said sharply. She was about to say more, but her lecture was interrupted by a sharp knock on the window. Harry sighed in relief. He'd spent enough time with the Weasleys to know that once Ron's mother started on a lecture, she wouldn't stop for hours.

An official looking owl flew into the room and perched on the windowsill. It dropped a small black envelope on the table and flew off. Both Ron and Mrs. Weasley stared at the envelope in horror.

"Oh, my..." Mrs. Weasley whispered as she moved towards the table. She lifted the envelope cautiously, as though it was a poisonous snake.

"It's not Charlie or Bill, right?" gulped Ron. Harry looked on in confusion.

"Charlie and Bill? What?" he asked. Once again, he felt as though he knew nothing about the wizarding world.

"Harry - it's a death notice..." whispered Ron. They both looked at Mrs. Weasley as she opened the envelope and read the first line. Her eyes filled with tears.

"Who... Who is it?" Ron looked down at his worn shoes. Harry felt a tingly feeling pass through him. This was bad, he thought. This was really bad.

"It's for Hermione."

-------------------*]

Dear Ms. Hermione Granger,

It is with our deepest regrets that we must inform you of the death of your parents, Thomas and Anna Granger. They were killed by a group of Death Eaters on July 23rd, at approximately 3 PM. We are sure that your father and mother put up quite a fight, and they died for a good cause.

As you know, Hogwarts term starts on September 1st. Headmaster Dumbledore wrote to us saying that you can refrain from attending classes until you feel comfortable in the company of other students. Please stay with the Weasleys until the end of summer vacation.

Your parents' will shall be read tomorrow, July 25th, at 5 PM, in our London Headquarters. The Weasleys can provide you with transportation to the meeting and back.

Sincerely,

D. Hoskens 

Delia Hoskens, Muggle Protection Department

-------------------*]

Hermione clutched her cup of tea. Her hands were white, and she thought that the mug would soon break and splash the contents all over the stately-looking wizard in front of her. I don't care if it does, she thought angrily. Let it. Let it. And I hope it hurts him, too.

Luckily for both Hermione and the man in front of her, Mrs. Weasley came up behind her and gently unclasped her fingers. Hermione sighed and let go. She sat down on the couch and glared at the wizard.

"Ms. Granger?" he asked uncertainly.

"Yeah, that's me," she said insolently. "What do you want from me?"

The wizard looked as if he was taken aback. "Ms. Hermione Juliet Granger? Entering her sixth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry?"

"Yes, I told you already. It's me."

"Oh, please pardon me. I wasn't expecting... er..." he stuttered and sat down across from her. Mrs. Weasley gave the wizard a pitying look, as though saying, I'm glad I don't have to go this for a living.

"So what is it? What are you going to tell me now?" Hermione sighed.

"Well, I'm very, very sorry for your parents'..."

"Save it. I've already heard everything. I don't need your sympathy, mister. You can't do anything to help, so just skip the formalities. Tell me what it is you have to tell me, and I'll be on my way." Hermione was surprised at her outburst. She looked down and stared at the tea intently as little ripples broke out on the surface.

"Oh... Well..." the wizard cleared his throat. "My name is Allan Merrill, and I was your parents' magic advisor. As you already know, magic advisors are there to help out Muggles with wizard children or siblings. I was also managing your parent's financial affairs. A few days before their... death... they wrote out a will. There's also some... papers. I have been instructed to give them to you on your seventeenth birthday. They will be placed in the care of your new legal guardian..."

Hermione looked up sharply. "Guardian? You mean my Muggle relatives?"

Allan laughed nervously. "Well... No. You see, Ms. Granger, it is Ministry policy that if a Muggle-born witch or wizard (already attending Hogwarts) is orphaned, a Ministry family looks after them... This is only in the case that the parents are... er... killed by something magical, and therefore Ministry related."

"WHAT?" Hermione screamed. She stood up, stuttering.

"Calm down, Ms. Granger, please..." Merrill wrung his arms. "It's perfectly common, abiding by all the laws..."

"So let me get this straight... My parents were killed because of a Ministry screw-up, and I get stuck living with total strangers! I never get to see my family again!" Hermione stood up and got ready to walk out.

Mrs. Weasley was sitting on her corner of the couch quietly during this whole fiasco, but when Hermione tried to leave, she stood up and pulled her back down.

"Now, Hermione, calm down, love..."

"NO! How can I calm down when this... and... I mean, why? And... this is all... so..." Hermione buried herself in Mrs. Weasley's shoulder. Muffled sobs were heard. Hermione looked up, her face tear stained and red. She started crying again, loud, racking sobs. She felt a pain in her chest as though someone lodged a brick in there, and now her whole body was falling apart.

"There, there, honey... Just cry it out, cry it out..." whispered Mrs. Weasley soothingly. She rocked Hermione on her lap, just like she did with Ginny whenever her daughter had nightmares.

Allan looked uncomfortable. Mrs. Weasley gave him a stern look, and turned to Hermione.

Big brown eyes looked back up at her, watery and red. The nerve-racking sobs stopped. Hermione hiccupped.

"I - I'm fine now," she whispered. Mr. Merrill nodded.

"The - the family with which you'll be living - they also has a student in Hogwarts," Allan said importantly, cleaning off his glasses.

Mrs. Weasley pulled a lock of her hair back. "Mr. Merrill, can Hermione stay with us? She's always welcome in our home. She and my Ron are best friends."

Allan looked at Mrs. Wealey sorrowfully. "I'm sorry, but the Minister of Magic said that, as good a family as yours is, you wouldn't be able to support an extra child."

Mrs. Weasley flushed bright red. "Now, see here! We get along just fine! We have enough for what we need, and we're happier than-"

"Mrs. Weasley, this isn't my decision to make. I'm sure that Hermione would be very content living with you, and you can take this up with them later. However, I have been instructed to tell Ms. Granger here that she should pack her bags and meet her new guardian-"

"But they said I could stay with the Weasleys! The-the-letter...." Hermione was lost for words.

"Your new family insists. They want to get to know you before you leave for Hogwarts. You'll have about a month there..."

"Who? Who are they?" Hermione bit her lip. Perhaps she could stay with Lavender Brown, or Parvati and Padma Patil...

"Mr. Lucius Malfoy has been kind enough to agree to take you in." 


	2. Meet the Malfoys

### Time of Your Life 

Chapter Two: Meet the Malfoys 

_By Mina_

**A/N: Malfoys, meet the Malfoys, they're your average pureblood family… From the Malfoy Mansion, they're the biggest snobs you'll ever see… The second part of my "epic saga". Hope you like it! Be sure to tell me if it gets too annoying and repetitive. Oh, and Bridget Doublon is pronounced "Brid-jet Doo-blon". Ok? Ok! Thanks to Borgin, my beta! **

-------------------*] 

_"Mudblood's a really foul name for someone who is Muggle-born – you know, non-magic parents. There are some wizards – like Malfoy's family – who think they're better than everyone else because they're what people call pure-blood." _

--Rubeus Hagrid, Chamber of Secrets 

_"You say you wake up crying _

_Yes, and you don't know why _

_You get up and go lie down _

_Inside my baby's room _

_Yeah, I guess I'm doing ok _

_I moved in with the strangest guy _

_Can you believe he thinks _

_That I am really alive." _

__

--I Will Buy You a New Life, Everclear

-------------------*] 

  
It was a grey, rainy day, quite appropriate for Mrs. Bridget Doublon's mood. She was not exactly what you'd call melancholy, but she had a grave air about her. Maybe it was just her job choice that did that to her. 

She checked her watch again. One o'clock, and yet that dreadful girl still hadn't arrived. Didn't people have any consideration for anyone else's feelings? She had a life too, even if her employer didn't seem to realize it. Mr. Malfoy was very rich, however, and gave good pay. 

Bridget was in her late thirties, and widowed. Her husband was fifteen years older that she, and frankly, she wasn't sad to see him go. She married him because her parents insisted, not out of love. His money also had quite a bit to do with it. 

Well, what a waste, she thought, reminiscing about the old times. The bastard died and left everything to charity, every single penny of it. He wrote her a long letter, explaining how those people "needed it more that you ever could, Bridget." He said that she'd be able to get along on her own, being the able woman that she was. 

Mrs. Doublon scoffed. A passing pedestrian gave her an unpleasant look, and she glared right back. These Muggles had no business staring at her like that, as though she was one of them. 

"Mrs. Doublon?" a timid voice rang from behind her. Bridget swirled around to find a girl of about fifteen or sixteen years looking at her. 

"Yes, that would be me. Ms. Hermione Granger, I presume?" Bridget asked grandly. She twirled her wand nonchalantly, and gave the girl a scrutinizing look. 

"Yes. But please, call me Hermione," said the girl. Mrs. Doublon looked down at her. A rather scruffy girl, she decided. And that hair! Completely unlike Master Draco. And she probably had no manners, and most likely ate like a savage. Bridget disapproved of those sorts of girls; they grew up to be nothing better than women on the streets or poor secretaries. 

"I shall call you Ms. Granger, as it is a more formal title. I will expect to be called Mrs. Doublon, and to be treated with the proper respect." The girl looked shocked. She had not expected such a cold and harsh response. Would she burst out crying, wondered Bridget. The last thing I need is a howling teenager on my hands. 

"Yes, Mrs. Doublon," responded Hermione meekly. She played with the straps of her heavy backpack, and kicked her trunk with the tip of a muddy sneaker. 

"Look at me when speaking to me, Ms. Granger. You are a pureblooded, I presume?" Bridget asked in her most indifferent voice. 

Hermione went red. She mumbled something, and pushed a lock of bushy brown hair behind her year. 

"I Beg your pardon?" asked Bridget. 

"Muggleborn, Mrs. Doublon." 

"Oh. Yes, then…" she cleared her throat. "I was just wondering, as to see how you would adjust to living in an all-magic operated household." Mrs. Doublon started walking towards the street, meaning to take a shortcut through Diagon Alley. 

Hermione muttered something under her nose. Bridget looked at her sharply, and stopped. Hermione returned Bridget's glance. 

"What did you say?" Bridget narrowed her eyes. Hermione looked up at her in what seemed like mock-innocence. 

"Why, nothing!" Hermione grunted as she heaved her trunk along the asphalt. 

"Ms. Granger, I know perfectly well that you said something. I don't enjoy this sort of disrespect." 

"I'm very sorry. I said, 'It's very kind of you to care'. I'm sure that I have a lot to learn about living with the Malfoys," Hermione said, a tinge of defiance in her voice. 

That girl has a streak of insolence, thought Mrs. Doublon as she helped Hermione throw the trunk into the backseat of a cab. I intend to stamp that streak out if it's the last thing I do. I will not be insulted by a worthless Mudblood, Bridget added maliciously. 

-------------------*] 

"WHAT?" screamed Lucius Malfoy. He picked up a semi-expensive vase and threw it across the room. It hit the wall, and shattered into a thousand tinkling pieces. 

"Now, Lucius… Calm down…" Narcissa Malfoy said, pushing her husband down into a black leather armchair. She gently brushed his hair back. Lucius looked up at her, his grey eyes stormy and malevolent with anger. Narcissa hated it when he was like this. 

"But… Why wasn't I notified? Don't I have a right to know when someone's about to dump a goddamn KID off at my house?" Lucius groaned and leaned back on the chair. Narcissa gracefully sat down in another armchair, across the room, that wasn't in throwing distance. 

"Lucius, it was either the kid, or facing more Ministry inquiries. After your little… outing, I'm surprised you're not in Azkaban. Can't you control that bloodlust of yours?" 

"Narcissa, you know perfectly well that I can't control what happens at my meetings. The others decided, I couldn't go against their decisions. Master has looked down at me since Potter's last victory. He blames it on my weaknesses." Lucius slammed his fist against the table. "MY weaknesses. And that despicable little rat Wormtail…" 

Narcissa sighed and leaned her face against her hand. "Dear, don't start on that again. I know, I know–" 

"-that Potter deserves to die-" Lucius continued. 

"-and Draco really doesn't need this sort of talk around the house," finished Narcissa firmly. She actually cared about her son, unlike many socialite mothers. She couldn't say that she loved him; he was a sneaky, slippery little villain, just like his father. However, what kind of a mother would she be if she didn't care? 

"Damn it, Narcissa!" Lucius exclaimed. "Who is this girl that they're sending over?" 

Narcissa shrugged and looked down at her nails. "Helen, or Hera, or… What was her name? Hermione Something-or-other, I think." 

Lucius gritted his teeth. "Granger." 

Narcissa looked up in surprise. She quickly looked down and nodded. "Yes, that's it, I suppose. Hermione Granger. One of Draco's friends?" 

Lucius laughed bitterly. "A Mudblood. A know-it-all Mudblood would be Draco's exact description. And a Gryffindor at that! One of Potter's friends!" 

Narcissa bit her lip. "Oh, my… I… I… didn't know. I had no idea that she was… well…" 

"…everything we hate, the exact opposite of everything that the name 'Malfoy' stands for, a piece of muggle scum, Potter's goddamn girlfriend – well, shall I go on?" Lucius stood up and reached towards a pot of Floo Powder that stood on the mantle next to the fireplace. 

"Why, yes. Lucius, dear, where are you going?" 

"I'm going to go have a party with the house elves, Narcissa," said Lucius sarcastically. "Where do you THINK I'm going? To fix this little mistake of yours, obviously, over at the Ministry. Oh, and Narcissa…" 

"Yes?" 

"Never, ever let a muggle into my house without my permission. EVER. AGAIN." Lucius threw a pinch of Floo Powder into the burning fireplace and yelled, "Ministry of Magic Headquarters, London!" He disappeared in the blue-green flames. 

"Temper, temper, bastard…" muttered Narcissa as she walked downstairs to make herself a nice cup of tea… spiked with a bit of brandy, of course. 

-------------------*] 

Draco Malfoy was bored. Extremely, almost-to-death BORED. His broomstick was broken, his father was away on business, and though there was a vast library in the mansion, he wasn't the type of guy who'd read books for fun. Only Mudblood Granger would do that, he thought. 

Therefore, Draco amused himself by torturing the house elves and the few servants they had around the place. After a very busy morning (splashed all the gardeners with water balloons, set of a firework in the house elves' room, and let a very valuable unicorn loose on the grounds), he was extremely tired, and very dirty. He figured that he could take a quick shower before the usual dinner guests arrived, but for now, it didn't matter if ran about looking like a dirty ragamuffin. 

Draco yawned and sat down on the couch in the first floor waiting room. He stretched out and left muddy fingerprints all over the silky pink material. He smirked at a painting in the corner of the room as the figure looked over at him disapprovingly. Draco, however, was proud of what he was – a spoiled little rich boy. He thought that since he was rich, drop dead gorgeous (so said Pansy Parkinson, his long time girlfriend), and talented (so said Professor Snape, his favourite teacher), he should be able to do whatever the hell he wanted. Soiling a 5,000 galleon couch was certainly not his top priority, but while he was at it… 

"Draco! Up!" he heard his mother yell behind him. She was standing in the doorway, holding a cup of tea. She saw the couch, sighed, and took a big gulp. Draco looked at Narcissa nonchalantly. 

"Why mother… what is it that you wanted to tell me?" Draco asked innocently. 

"We are expecting company. Please clean yourself up a bit. As nice as it is to see you… exercising, I would prefer a son that doesn't resemble something that rolled around in the dirt for an hour when there are people around." 

"Oh, mother… I'll get cleaned up, honest," Draco smiled sweetly. Narcissa chugged down the rest of her tea and rubbed her temples. She set the cup down on the coffee table in the corner and walked out, muttering something under her breath. 

Draco sighed and walked towards the other door leading out of the room. He accidentally knocked the tea cup over on his way out. He stooped down and picked up the two pieces of glass (the handle broke off). 

Say… What's that smell? he thought as he pushed the broken mug to the far end of the tabletop. Yes, it's Father's best brandy… I wonder where that's coming from… 

-------------------*] 

"Quickly, before he gets out!" giggled Artie Bremmenstone as he and his friend Klaus Brumman snuck into Malfoy Mansion's best bathroom, where Draco Malfoy was currently residing. 

Clouds of steam enveloped the two eleven-year-olds as they opened the door and grabbed all the towels off the racks. 

"Accio bathrobe," whispered Klaus when he spotted a light grey bathrobe hanging by the shower curtain. The robe flew into his hands. Klaus grinned at Artie, who looked back at him with a certain respect. Klaus stuck his wand back into his pocket. 

The two ran outside the door. Artie shut it gently and the duo broke out in laughter. 

"Man, that was genius!" Artie exclaimed. "Where'd you learn that spell? Seemed pretty advanced!" 

Klaus grinned. "Found it one of Master Dumbass's old school books. T'was hard to learn, but definitely worth it!" 

Artie whistled. "Whoo… we got ourselves a child prodigy, ladies and gentlemen."

"Thank you, thank you very much…" Klaus bowed to his imaginary audience. "Well, Malfoy deserved it all. After those water balloons!" 

"Yeah!" Artie grinned evilly. "He's going to LOVE having to run around the house naked for a while." 

Klaus frowned. "Wouldn't he call the house elves?" 

"Ah, my talented friend, that is why you could never get along without me…" 

"Well, what'd you do?" 

"Say there just happened to be a fire in the kitchen right at the time he got out of the shower," Artie commented. Klaus grinned. 

"I bow to the master…" 

-------------------*] 

Draco spent a relaxing 40 minutes in the shower, letting the hot water wash over him for most of the time. After a while, he felt as though he was going to drown. It seemed as though he used up all the hot water in the house, too… Oh, the house elves wouldn't like that. All the better… 

He climbed out, reached for his towel… and grabbed thin air. Draco looked around in confusion. He was sure there was a towel around here somewhere, and his bathrobe as well, now that he came to think of it. 

He saw a muddy footprint by the door. His eyes narrowed after he worked it out… 

"GODDAMN KIDS!" Draco yelled with all his might. Oh, he was going to get those little… 

Outside, Artie grinned at Klaus. "What'd I tell you? We're geniuses, we are…" and he proceeded to light a small fire in a pile of dry wood. 

Draco searched through the bathroom frantically. Finally, in the corner of the bathroom (which was quite big), he found what looked like… a fuzzy pink bathrobe? Draco sighed. It was either this, or running up three floors to his room butt naked. Draco squeezed into the tiny robe, which reached to about four inches above his knees. He noted (to his disgust) that there was also a flower trim on the edges 

He scowled and ran out of the bathroom, his hair sticking out in wet, dark blonde tufts in all directions. He was at the foot of the stairs when– 

The doorbell rang. Draco cursed under his breath. This must be the company mother was expecting… His face twisted into an evil grin. He imagined the look on the faces of his mother's best friends (socialites like herself; he doubted that they had ever seen anything even slightly obscene) when they saw Lucius Malfoy's son dressed in pink. Oh, this was just too good a practical joke to resist… 

"I'LL GET IT!" he yelled loudly to any servants that might be going to get the door. 

He ran towards the main entrance, leaving little puddles of water everywhere. He stopped in front of a mirror on the way, mussed his hair up a bit more, hiked the bathrobe up higher… and saw a bright purple lipstick lying by the mirror. Oh, what the hell, he thought. I'll give them a real scare, he added as he carefully applied the lipstick. He smacked his lips together, and kept running. 

Draco pushed the door open, let out a high giggle, and turned to see the horrified looks on the faces of some overly made up ladies, dressed in designer robes. Only one problem… 

There weren't any ladies there. In fact, the only person there was Hermione Granger, standing with her overflowing trunk. And she looked just as horrified as Draco felt. 

Malfoy froze. He stared at the girl, and backed away slowly. 

"Draco… That lipstick's REALLY not your color," was all that Hermione could say before collapsing into peals of hysterical laughter. 


	3. A Cinderella Story

### Time of Your Life 

Chapter Three: A Cinderella Story

_By Mina  _

**A/N: *grins evilly* I've been getting requests for D/H… Well, I dunno… I've always been more H/H. And I *do* have a little something in mind for Hermione and our favorite Slytherin… Romance? Well, not exactly… Once again, Borgin, muchas gracias for beta-ing! This chapter is dedicated to Dillon, who will (hopefully) never read this.Dillon, we love you, you lil' leprechaun!!! *blows him a kiss and watches him run off in horror* Love ya, baby! **

** **

_"It's the same all over. Wizard blood is counting for less everywhere."  _

--Mr. Borgin, Chamber of Secrets

_"When you lost all hope and excuses  _

_and the cheapskates and the losers  _

_Nothing's left to cling onto  _

_You got to hold on to yourself"  _

--Hold On, Greenday (are y'all seeing a pattern with my quotes?)

-------------------*]_ _

_ _

"Er…" Draco, for once, was feeling very awkward. Hermione blushed bright red and looked away.

"Malfoy, I can honestly say that though I've contemplated several different ways you might spend your summer break, this certainly wasn't on my list. My, my – I don't think even Ron thought that you… er…" Hermione giggled.

Draco scowled. "You… weren't…" he stuttered. "Why are you here, anyway? Who invited the _mudblood_ over? Father won't like this…" 

Hermione's face fell. "Don't you… you… know?" 

Draco hurriedly wiped the purple lipstick off. "Know what? Why aren't you off making out with Potty or Weasel, anyway? Don't your parents have anyplace to keep you for the summer, or do they hate having you around as much as I do?" 

The girl's wand clattered down the stone steps of the entrance. Hermione gave Draco a scathing look, then lunged for his throat. 

"DON'T-YOU-DARE-SAY-ANYTHING-ABOUT-MY-PARENTS-" Hermione pummeled Draco. He got ready to fight back, when he noticed that Hermione stopped trying to beat him up. She was sitting on threshold of the door… crying. She was clutching a black envelope, which looked like… 

"Grang - Hermione… Wait… What'd I say?" Draco's voice softened. He sat down on the other edge of the entrance, as far away from Hermione as possible. She thrust the envelope into his hands. 

Draco read through the contents. "Oh, I'm sorry… I – I, I didn't mean–" 

Hermione wiped away her tears. "You didn't mean to mock my now dead parents. You see here?" Hermione poked the letter. "They were killed by Death Eaters. You-Know-Who, Malfoy…" 

"…I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that." Draco ran his fingers through his still wet, clumpy hair. He couldn't believe he was being civil to Granger. 

"You're right. Though I never thought I'd see you apologizing, not after the torture you've put me and Harry and Ron through these past five years." 

"Don't expect me to be nice to you just because your parents are dead, Mudblood. I'm Draco Malfoy, not Potty or Weasel. I'm not here to give you a shoulder to cry on, you got that?" Draco got up and brushed dirt off his bathrobe. He looked back at Hermione, who had a rather strange look on her face. "And don't you dare tell anyone about, you know," he motioned at the robe and the smudged lipstick, "this. I can make your life living hell around here, Granger." 

Hermione looked shocked. She rubbed her puffy eyes, and gave Draco a cold look. "I underestimated you, Malfoy. For a while there, I thought you were human. My mistake." 

"Oh, I'm human! More of a human than–" 

"Draco! I see you've met Hermione!" Narcissa stepped out from behind a statuette of Merlin. Draco stared at his mother. 

"You-you-KNEW about this?" was all that he could manage to say. 

"Knew?" laughed Narcissa. "Why, it was I who arranged it all, really!" She gave a high-pitched giggle and hiccupped. Draco backed away. 

Narcissa brushed back her blonde hair and finally noticed what Draco was wearing. "Why, Draco, whatever is that? Pink? No, no dear… that really doesn't go well with your delicate complexion!" 

Draco slapped his forehead. Crap, he thought, she's drunk. Drunk! And in front of Granger! Rita Skeeter would have a _field day_ with this. He could see the headlines already… "Lucius Malfoy's Son Crossdresser!" and "Malfoy Loves Muggles?" and "Alcoholics in the Malfoy Manor!" and perhaps even "Malfoy Molesting Muggleborn?" 

His train of thought was interrupted by a rather loud sob coming from Hermione. He looked in the direction of the gardens and hurriedly wiped away her tears. A tall, gaunt figure, dressed in black was moving towards them. 

"Bridget! Wonderful, wonderful!" Narcissa giggled drunkenly and sat down on the steps in a rather unladylike fashion. Bridget was at the foot of the stairs, giving both Hermione and Narcissa a stiff, disapproving glare. She put on a fake looking thin smile and helped Narcissa up. 

"Now, now, Madame… We must get all of you inside, you'll catch a cold. Master Lucius wouldn't be pleased, would he now?" Bridget literally dragged Narcissa inside as Mrs. Malfoy yelled to Draco: 

"Draco, dear, do help Hermione with her trunk!" Draco glowered at Hermione and heaved her trunk into the mansion. Hermione followed meekly, gritting her teeth and wishing she was anywhere but here. 

-------------------*] 

"WHAT? Hermione is – NO! – this is impossible! Evil! They'll kill her! Poison her! Slit her throat while she's asleep, or feed her to Dementors!" Ron banged his fist against the table. "Why wasn't I told? My best friend is in the clutches of the Malfoys, and I'm the last one to find out?" 

Mrs. Weasley sighed and opened her mouth to say something, but she was interrupted by a loud clattering  from the stairs. Harry bumped his head against the railing and rolled down the last few steps. He rubbed his forehead, and walked to the kitchen counter. 

"What? What'd I miss?" asked Harry. "And where's Hermione?" 

"Second to last to know, Ron. Second to last," whispered Mrs. Weasley as Harry looked at everybody in confusion. 

"But I can't believe it! What stupid Ministry law allows those sorts of things to happen?" Ron proceeded to stab his breakfast toast with his knife. 

"Calm down! Arthur will figure something out. Hermione won't have to be there for long," Molly Weasley said worriedly. 

Harry groaned. "Why don't I ever know anything? What's wrong with Hermione? What _about_ the Ministry?" 

"Harry, the Malfoys have got Hermione!" Ron yelled and shook Harry's shoulder. Harry looked at him wide eyed. 

"Ron, stop kiddin' around. I'm too tired for these sorts of jokes. Where is Hermione, really? I need help with my Charms essay…" Harry trailed off. 

"It's true. The death notice – that was her parents. It's a Ministry law, you see. If a Muggle born witch's or wizard's parents are killed by something related to magic, they are taken in by a wealthy Ministry family, at least until their magical education is completed. Mr. and Mrs. Granger were killed in a Death Eater attack in London." Mrs. Weasley wiped her eyes with a tissue. 

"NO! This is - this is – impossible! Why didn't anybody tell me?" Harry was having the same reaction as Ron. 

"There's only one thing we can do," said Mrs. Weasley firmly. 

"What?" asked Harry and Ron simultaneously. 

"Wait and hope." 

-------------------*] 

"You are comfortable here, I trust?" Bridget asked stiffly as she helped Hermione push her trunk into a rather bare white room. There was a small twin size bed in the corner, a round mirror, and a cheap looking picture on the wall of a vase of flowers. A small writing table stood next to a dusty window, and there was a bookcase full of titles like "Muggle Breeding in the Late 1800's" and "Malfoys: 1200-1700". Hermione sighed. 

"Yes, it's very… nice," she mumbled and sat down on the bed stiffly. Bridget gave her another scrutinizing look and walked out of the room, shutting the door loudly behind her. 

"Oh God!" Hermione moaned as she banged her head against a heavily starched pillow. Before, she couldn't stop crying loud, ungraceful sobs. Now all she could do is shake and bury her face in the rough bed covers. The tears could no longer flow freely down her cheeks; she felt as though she had cried them all out, and now there was nothing left there, except a dull, beating ache in her heart. 

And it felt much worse than any physical pain she had ever experienced. This is what Cinderella must have felt like, living with her evil stepmother, Hermione thought. How ironic. At least Cinderella had her ball and her Prince. All Hermione had was a trunk full of books and a broken heart. 

-------------------*] 

Dear Hermione, 

Look… we're very, very sorry about what happened. We didn't know that… you know… Your parents were killed. Mrs. Weasley sent us away as soon as the telegram arrived. We were going to ask you, but then you were gone, and we only just found out. 

I hope the Malfoys aren't being too cruel. Listen, if they lay a finger on you, just owl us. Mr. Weasley will be over in a second, to get you out of there. We're trying to let the Ministry allow you to stay with us, at the Burrow. 

Dad will stop by soon to bring you Crookshanks. He's been running wild in the woods, we only just caught him. 

Good luck. Don't let those pricks get you down, and we'll kill Malfoy for you if he dares say _anything_. 

Love, 

Harry and Ron 

-------------------*] 

Lucius Malfoy paced up and down the dark burgundy hallway. He glared at the small golden plaque that had "Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic" engraved on it. 

"Ah! Lucius! So good to see you!" Cornelius Fudge smiled a big, toothy grin. Some said that he could rival Gilderoy Lockhart for the whiteness and shininess of his teeth. To tell the truth, the Colgate grin made most people wary and distrustful. Lucius, on the other hand, simply found it amusing. He, for one, knew that those pearly whites were about as real as Britney Spears's body. (A/N: Sorry. Couldn't resist! Let's just say that Lucius knows more 'bout Muggles than we think… And, to keep with the times, he watches the Mickey Mouse Club, too. So there's more to him than we thought!). 

"Hullo, Cornelius," Lucius said sourly. 

The Minister of Magic slapped his shoulder in a friendly gesture. "Why, Lucius! Whatever's wrong?" Malfoy sighed. Remind me again, he said to himself while rubbing his temples, how this idiot ended up the Minister… 

"What's wrong, Cornelius?" Lucius muttered through clenched teeth. "You want to know what's _wrong_?" The Minister nodded dumbly, backing away just the slightest bit. 

"THERE IS A MUGGLE IN MY HOUSE! WITH MY WIFE AND CHILD! HOW DID THIS HAPPEN, AGAIN?" Lucius exploded. Fudge fingered his wand nervously. 

"Well… uh… you see…" he cleared his throat. "Narcissa said that you were perfectly okay with it, and after all, the poor thing's parents _were_ killed in a Death Eater attack, and you know how bloody often these things are happening now. It was the least we could do to help the girl, and your wife really wanted her over," Cornelius said all in one breath. 

Lucius turned a peculiar shade of pink, then red, then a rather painful looking maroon with a tint of burgundy. "I DON'T CARE IF THEY WERE MAULED BY BLOODY DRAGONS! I DON'T WANT THAT… MUGGLE LIVING UNDER MY ROOF!!!" Malfoy's blonde hair was getting mussed and greasy. He was sweating, and, for once, his black silk robes did not give him the advantage of looking superior. 

The Minister of Magic pressed a small red button near his desk. He tripped over a chair and landed on a small black armchair in his office. He turned pale as he saw Malfoy grip his wand and start moving slowly towards him. 

The doors to his office burst open, and three wizards in plain black robes surrounded Lucius. They gently took him by the arms and attempted to lead him out of the door. Lucius struggled and attempted to kick at one of them. 

"YOU BLOODY BASTARDS! Don't you know who I am? I'm Lucius Malfoy, damn it! I can have your liver on a platter by Monday morning!!!" he screamed in a rage. One of the black robed men nodded sympathetically. 

"Sure ya are," he said in a rather annoying American accent. He tipped his wand to Fudge (who was now turning back to his normal color), and helped the other two men "assist" Mr. Lucius Malfoy out of the Ministry Headquarters. 

-------------------*] 

Draco was having by far the worst day of his summer. Even being in a stuffy and dusty room full of gloomy old wizards for five hours was better than this. Not that, Draco hurriedly added, his father was old or gloomy. Just a bit… imposing, that's all. 

One of his worst enemies, a Gryffindor, and a Mudblood at that, saw him in pink. This was enough material to blackmail him for life, not to mention that his mother chose that particular day to end up drunk. Draco glared at his ceiling, and clenched his fists angrily. If father ever found out about this, he would be dead. He would be beyond dead. 

Draco prayed to whatever god watched over spoiled little rich boys - please don't let anybody find out about this.  
  
-------------------*]  
  
**A/N: So this was all cut a little short. I've been in a rut. Oh, and for anybody here that's interested. I have discovered the new love of my life - Seamus Finnigan! *growls* Mine! And don't any of you's forget it!  
  
-Mina**


	4. What May Have Been

Time of Your Life

**Time of Your Life**

_By Mina_

Chapter Four: What May Have Been 

**A/N: In this author's note, I feel that I need to "thank" several people. 1st off, muchas gracias to all my teachers, for finally working me so much that I started falling asleep in class, therefore lowering my immune system's… er… immunity, getting me sick, and letting me go home. I'd like to thank Dillon for being a stubborn little prick, I'd like to thank my math teacher for having a nice long class today, and I'd like to thank my friend Maria, who probably got me sick AGAIN, since I always get sick right after she does. Of course, the preceding comments were said with sarcasm. . I'd like to thank Taranda Borgin (ff.net:Borgin), my beta, and I'd like to thank Andy (ff.net: [Sirius][1]) for giving me a cameo, and Steph (ff.net: [ Labyrinth Dumbledore][2]), for being a great friend, and participating in my crazy RPG's. And, the biggest thanks goes out to all those who reviewed: THANK YOU! That out of the way, I'll proceed with the story. Warning, this is written under the influence of antibiotics, sleep-deprivation, and a rather strange obsession with Seamus Finnigan, who has no part in this whatsoever. Now, on with the damned ficcy! **

** **

_"Six whole hours _

_And five long days _

_For all your lies to come undone _

_ _

_And those three small words _

_Were way too late _

_Cause you can't see that I'm the one" _

--Three Small Words, Josie and the Pussycats._ _

_ _

_"Yesterday… all my troubles seemed so far away _

_Now it looks as though they're here to stay _

_Oh I believe in yesterday. _

_ _

_Suddenly, I'm not half the man I used to be _

_There's a shadow hanging over me _

_Oh yesterday came suddenly" _

_ _

--Yesterday, The Beatles 

---------*] 

Date: December 20th, 1979 

Location: Small pub in London 

Time: 10:25 PM 

The man was tall and thin, looking about twenty-five or so. He had light brown hair, cropped close to his head. He was in military uniform, just back from a long trip to Ireland. Those damned people were crazy, he thought to himself as the bartender poured him another pint. I got this horrid habit from them, he decided as he chugged down another glass. 

He looked back at the gold band on his hand and shook his head uncertainly. He wasn't actually married, not yet. Just engaged, and to a woman he loved. Or thought he loved, up until today. 

It was the usual kind of fight, things being thrown, yelling, and endless bickering. And so he ended up in this shabby pub, with a small knapsack containing a few spare shirts and a pair of pants. That bitch didn't even have the decency to give me a toothbrush, he mused as he wiped the foam off his upper lip. 

He told her that he loved her, and that she was his everything, and that no woman was more important in his life. Of course, she said that he was too late, and that it was hopeless, and that she didn't need him anymore. 

"Wife kick you out?" the bartender asked cautiously. The man shook his head and chuckled glumly. 

"Fiancé. Well, she wasn't worth it. A good-for-nothing…" The bartender shook his head. He didn't look too convinced, but he poured the man another pint, and went back to servicing his other customers. 

And the man mourned quietly, shuffling the wedding band from hand to hand, and every now and then, letting a tear slip by. 

---------*] 

Date: December 25th, 1979 

Location: Malfoy Mansion, uncharted 

Time: 10:03 PM 

"Never!" hissed Narcissa, backing away from Lucius. Lucius growled, and grabbed her hand harshly. 

"You are my wife now. You shall do as I say, else you will be punished. This isn't finishing school, m'dear," he said with an evil glint in his icy eyes. 

Narcissa's bottom lip quivered slightly, and she looked ready to cry. However, she stuck her chin out defiantly and marched out of the room. 

"Where are you going now?" Lucius called after her. His voice was dripping with amusement and sarcasm. "I suppose you have another lover, then? My, my…" 

"I'm going _now_, and you can't stop me!" Narcissa slammed several doors loudly as she gathered her cloak and threw on some plain robes, which resembled a Muggle dress. 

"Go ahead. I won't try. You'll be back, and I'll be waiting." 

Lucius and Narcissa had been married for one week, and needless to say, it was not a happy marriage. Neither was it a willing one… Arranged marriages were very common amongst the powerful, aristocratic Pureblood families. It was almost a tradition, and one that was not to be forgotten anytime soon. 

Narcissa grabbed her purse and threw a pinch of Floo Powder into the fire. "London!" she yelled as she stepped inside. 

Lucius smirked at the place where Narcissa just stood, and stroked his chin thoughtfully. She has an insolent streak, he mused. I like that. I think I'll keep her around, if only because she interests me. Yes, she is quite amusing. 

---------*] 

Narcissa ran through the snowy flurries, the drops of semi-melted slush getting stuck in her curly blonde hair. She looked surprisingly like her husband – tall, blonde, with striking features. However, she had a much softer, more submissive air about her. Her whole life, she was trained (almost like a dog) to do what she was told, and she was sick and tired of it. 

Love was not something that one could play foolish games with, and it seemed as though it would never truly come her way. Narcissa did not love her parents. They were selfish, self-centered, and didn't care about how Narcissa truly felt. To them, she was just another trophy to show off. As a young girl, they would dress her up in robes of silk and curl her hair, just to display her as a little doll that was perfect in every fashion. 

She did not love Lucius Malfoy. It was far from that. She despised him, loathed him, but she did not fear him. She was supposed to, really, but something about the man made her want to burst out in peals of laughter. Narcissa thought that he looked like a pompous, overdressed pig, reminding her of Napoleon in "Animal Farm", a Muggle book she once read. 

But now was not the time for thinking; she was running through the London alleys, snow-covered and windy, and she was cold. A thin cloak (though wool) couldn't keep out the wetness and cold of winter, and the skimpy robes beneath did nothing to help her situation. A Warmth Charm would have fixed her situation immediately, but it wasn't safe; Muggles would think it strange to see a young woman running through the streets of London, the snow melting within a five-foot radius of her. 

She saw the light of a pub, merry yells and shouts coming from inside. Narcissa heard a clip of a well-known Irish drinking tune, and grimaced. It certainly wasn't the sort of place that she wanted to be seen in… But they were Muggles, and inferior to her in all ways. What could they possibly do to a fully trained witch, especially one that once took a course in self-defense? 

She ran forward to the pub door, slowly pushing it open and glancing inside cautiously. Then, averting all her self-preservation instincts, she stepped inside, an expression of pure apathy painted on her face. 

---------*] 

Date: December 25th, 1979 

Location: Previously mentioned pub 

Time: 10:34 PM 

It was the man's 5th pint, and he was getting quite drunk by now. Half the pub heard of his misfortunes, and, most of them being as drunk just as he was, they proceeded to tell about how their "oul' bitch kicked 'em out", too, and how she came begging to have them back. Even through his fogged up, drunken stupor, Thomas knew that the chances of Anna beginning for him were minimal, if existent at all. 

Soft footsteps sounded from the entrance of the pub, and Thomas twisted around to see the most beautiful woman he ever laid eyes on walk into the dingy bar. 

She wore a face that was indifferent to all the catcalls and offers of drinks that she was receiving. Her clothes were also slightly strange, but Thomas figured that it was some new style; besides, this woman looked like a model that just stepped off a runway in Paris. 

She had waist-length blonde hair, which curled about her face in a sort of cascade of silk. Her eyes were a peculiar grey-blue shade, with a tint of green on the sides, and she had pale skin, as though she was kept hidden inside for years, away from the healthy glow of the sun. Still, she was almost perfect in Thomas's eyes. Maybe it was just the alcohol, but there seemed to be some compelling aura around the woman, something irresistible, yet elusive. 

"I'm Narcissa," she said, turning to Thomas. He had the sudden urge to turn around and see if she was talking to some handsome man behind him. No, it was him alright. 

"Thomas Granger," he said cordially, and shook her hand. She caught a glimpse of the wedding band, and smiled lightly. 

"Having a guys' night out, to take a break from the wife, I assume?" she asked nonchalantly, ordering a plain lemonade from the bartender, who seemed hardly affected by her charm. 

"No… Recently had a fight with my fiancé," Thomas murmured, staring at the band and letting the dim electric light shine off the metal surface and create sunspots on the ceiling. 

"I'm sorry," Narcissa muttered, taking a sip of her lemonade. She, too, had a gold ring on her finger, which Thomas had failed to notice before. 

"Are you married, too?" he asked, surprised that one so young and as pretty as her would be settled down already. 

"Yes… Just a week, actually." She quickly added, "It was more of an arranged-marriage type of deal. Our parents were good friends, and always assumed that their children would marry. So we did. Personally, I find my husband a loathsome man; all he ever cares about is his work and his own personal benefit." Her piercing eyes stared into his face intently. 

"My f- Anna, she said the same about me. She said that I had no right to desert her for my work, and that I should have never joined the army, and stuck to medical school." 

"Really? What were you studying?" Narcissa asked in interest. She did not know much about Muggle culture, but she was eager to learn. This man seemed interesting enough, if not overall a kind and nice guy. She couldn't comprehend how his wife was unhappy with him. 

"Dentistry. It was my field of expertise, so you can put it," Thomas muttered and ordered himself another glass of beer. 

"No," Narcissa simply said and pushed the beer away. "No more alcohol for you." 

"Really?" he muttered tiredly, his eyes dull and lacking their usual luster. 

"No more alcohol," she repeated. 

"Where do you live?" Thomas asked suddenly. 

"Far." 

"Would you like to… go to a hotel or something?" Thomas was appalled with himself. Why was he so blatantly hitting on a married woman? No matter, she'd reject him, and he could go on drinking- 

"Okay," she answered softly. Narcissa looked at him trustingly, and stood up. She followed him out of the pub and into the hotel a few blocks down. The snow stopped falling so violently, and the two slowly trekked towards their room after getting the key at the front desk. 

Their footprints left deep dents in the newly fallen snow, and no one knew that, at that moment, they were about to change the flow of history, and alter some people's lives forever. 

---------*] 

Narcissa and Thomas spent that night doing what was expected of them – the author will leave the readers to decide for themselves. The next morning, the two went their own ways. 

Narcissa went back to Lucius, and he, of course, forgave her. They did not exactly live happily ever after – but it was as happy as could be expected. 

Thomas went back to Anna, and they made up. Anna never found out about Thomas's night out, and he never felt the need to tell her. They were married two weeks later, as planned. Thomas and Narcissa never saw each other again, though, once, a mysterious letter found itself in Thomas's briefcase. The loopy handwriting at the bottom proclaimed "Narcissa Malfoy". But the contents of the letter are yet to be revealed to us. 

Maybe one – no, two – things happened that were out of the ordinary. About nine months after that fateful night, Narcissa had a baby – a son, and she named him Draco. The boy had Narcissa's hair, and Narcissa's father's eyes. But there was something about him that was un-Malfoy, and not resembling Narcissa. 

He had a strong chin, narrow shoulders, and a gaunt walk that only one person Narcissa knew of had – Thomas, the Muggle. Draco was, undoubtedly, her son. But Lucius was certainly not the father. Narcissa had the sense never to tell her husband of it, obviously. She loved her son, and she would not let Lucius kill him. No, it was better to live with this secret than to ever hurt her child, or the man that fathered him. 

Anna and Thomas had a daughter – Hermione Granger. She looked much like her mother in many ways, but she had her father's eyes and hair, as well as his love for books. When she was eleven, a letter came from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and Hermione attended. The rest of the story is known to us – her best friends were Harry Potter and Ron Weasley, and her most hated enemy was Draco Malfoy. 

And so it went on, until the fateful day that Mr. and Mrs. Granger had to take some money out of the bank… 

---------*] 

Dear Thomas, 

You probably don't remember me. This is Narcissa Malfoy, the woman that you met on December 25th, two years ago, in a pub in London. 

Last August, I had a baby – a son, and his name is Draco. He is not my husband's son, but yours. There is a portrait enclosed; see how he looks like you? He has your face shape and figure, though he does slightly resemble my husband. That is fortunate for both of us. 

I don't want child support, and I don't want you to try to contact me. My husband knows nothing, and I'd prefer to keep it that way. I love my son dearly, and I would rather have him believe that Lucius, my husband, is, indeed, his father. 

I just thought that you should know. Don't wonder how this letter got into your things, I have my ways. But, please – _don't_ try to contact me. You'll regret it, for my husband is a very vengeful man. 

I hope that you and your fiancé patched up your differences, and that you live a happy and satisfied life. 

Sincerely, 

Narcissa Malfoy

Narcissa Malfoy 

P.S. Perhaps we shall meet again someday, to discuss this face-to-face. 

---------*] 

**A/N #2: *cringes* Yes, I realize that this ruins all chances of D/H. Well, I said that I didn't want much romance! I hope that everybody is satisfied with the way this is going, and I hope that it explains things somewhat. I realize that I'm messing with canon, but somehow this version seemed more realistic than "Narcissa has a baby girl with Thomas, which she gives back to him, and then has Draco", which was my original plan. Whatever. Bye, then! R/R, tell me what you think!**

** **

**-Mina**

   [1]: http://members.fanfiction.net/index.fic?action=directory-authorProfile&userid=25140
   [2]: http://members.fanfiction.net/index.fic?action=directory-authorprofile&userid=17677



End file.
